


I Will Always Make Time For You

by electronic_elevator



Series: the ones with little!Wilford [2]
Category: Video Blogging RPF, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: ABDL, Non-Sexual Age Play, allusion to Wilford's past trauma, allusion to the fact that Wilford is occasionally violent, cg!Reader, excessive paperwork, gender neutral reader, getting ready for bed, late night dinner, little!Wilford, littlespace as a coping mechanism, reader pulls an all-nighter, they/them Darkiplier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:27:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23081698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electronic_elevator/pseuds/electronic_elevator
Summary: You’re working double duty while Darkiplier is off on business, and you are exhausted. But it’s fine! Totally under control! Except… it comes to your attention that you’ve ended up neglecting the person you care most about when you find him little and trying to make himself dinner.
Relationships: Wilford Warfstache | William J. Barnum | The Colonel/OC, Wilford Warfstache | William J. Barnum | The Colonel/Reader
Series: the ones with little!Wilford [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1742665
Comments: 4
Kudos: 32





	I Will Always Make Time For You

**Author's Note:**

> this sat in limbo for a while, then college (which is hellbent on my destruction) forced me into a near-all-nighter and I got the inspiration to finish it. (then it sat in limbo for a while again while I was kept too busy for weeks on end to edit it...)

Darkiplier was away. 

They’d had to leave for about a week — on business, of course; Dark was not one for vacations (though they could probably use one). And, while they were gone, their responsibilities fell to you, in addition to your own. A few days in, you were realizing exactly why Dark hired you in the first place. This was… too much work for one person. You had tried to work ahead before they left, and had delegated some of the tasks that the two of you could trust to other egos, but only halfway through the trip, paperwork was piling up and you were settling in for a long, long night. 

You sighed, laying the fine-print laden documents you’d needed have read through as of, oh, lunch today gently on top of the anxiety-inducingly-messy desk, usually kept so clean…

Coffee. You needed coffee. (You crumpled your nose at the thought; you hated coffee.) But a glance at the clock revealed there was no other way to get this done tonight. 

You’d multitask, you decided, picking up the papers you were trying to get through. You’d walk and read. Only four more days. Just four more days, you told yourself. 

You dragged your attention as deep into the documents as it would go and walked on autopilot to the kitchen.

———

Approaching the kitchen, you heard a clatter, followed by a frustrated and sad whimper. That intimately-familiar voice and cut directly through both your exhaustion and distraction. That was unmistakably Wilford, and he sounded surprisingly — alarmingly — little. Without a second thought, you dropped the papers on the nearest flat surface as you snapped into a beeline towards the source of the noise. “Wilford? Baby?” 

Sure enough, there was your baby boy, still dressed in his work shirt and slacks. He looked at you with a mix of surprise and guilt, but behind that you could see he was tired and upset and small. His eyes were wet with it. At least, he was physically safe, so your attention receded to take in the rest of the room. There was a plastic plate on the floor, food scattered around it — hence the clatter, you supposed — a peanut butter sandwich half-visible under the overturned plate, and baby carrots scattered around, with splatters that were probably applesauce in the vicinity on the floor. But that wasn’t important yet. 

“Baby boy, what’s wrong?” you asked, stepping over the fallen plate to wrap him in a hug. You went to put a hand on the back of his head, intending to guide it to rest on your shoulder, but he resisted, remaining stiff in your arms.

“M— Y/N, no— I—“ Wilford shook his head. “I’m okay; I’m big,” he protested, despite literally all of the evidence in the room suggesting otherwise. 

“No you’re not, Wil, you’re my baby boy and Mommy needs to know why you don’t think you can tell them that.” 

Wilford’s face crumpled, and he yielded, burying his face in the corner between your shoulder and your neck and wrapping his arms tightly around your waist. “I’m sorry,” he explained as you stroked his hair and held him close. “You’ve been so busy with Dark gone so when I started feeling bad then I started feeling little I didn’t want to interrupt you; I know how much work you have to do…” 

Your heart broke. You should’ve checked on him. But you’d hardly checked on yourself in the last few days, and neither Wilford’s bad days nor his little days followed any particular pattern, except for the trend you’d worked together to establish of transitioning from the one to the other. “Wilford, I’m so sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me. You know you can come find me when you’re feeling bad _or_ when you’re feeling little, no matter what, right?”

“…I know, but I really wanted to let you get work done,” he said, looking at you sadly. “I thought I could take care of myself tonight.” 

You hummed and nodded. “When you said you weren’t feeling good, can you tell me more about that?” 

Wil broke eye contact, opting to return to the safety of your shoulder. He mumbled something about a bad day at work. You felt a stab of alarm, hoping he hadn’t hurt anyone. The fact that he was back here in the manor, clean and present-minded, told you that he probably hadn’t. You’d have to check in with Kathryn about it later. 

“Memories?” you prompted. You were trying so hard to make progress with him, to make sure his littlespace was a _healthy_ coping mechanism unlike so many he’d tried before, and to help him heal. But you knew as well as anyone that healing from trauma was neither quick nor easy. 

Wilford was quiet for a minute. “Regrets,” he decided on, sounding big for the moment. 

You held him a moment longer, giving him space to elaborate if he wanted to while breathing in the scent of his hair and appreciating the moment to just be close to him for the first time all week.

When you were pretty sure he didn’t want to share anything else, you spoke. “You know what?”

“What?” 

“I’m really proud of you.” 

He looked up at you with innocent and searching eyes. “For what?” 

“It sounds like you handled your bad day very well. And even though I’d much rather you come to me if you start feeling little, you are a very thoughtful little boy for wanting to be good and let Mommy get their work done.” 

He smiled at you at that. 

“I love you so much, Wilford.” 

“I love you too, Mommy.” 

You loosened the hug, nodding towards the overturned plate. “So, what’s this on the floor?” 

“Ohhhh,” he started. “I missed dinner ‘cause I was in my room when I wasn’t feeling good after work. Then I felt better enough, and also hungry enough, to try and make something, but I dropped it.” 

Suddenly, you resented your own decision to skip dinner. If you had gone, you would’ve known something was wrong when Wilford hadn’t shown up, and could’ve been with him that much earlier. Further, the other egos probably assumed the two of you were together and didn’t think much of it. …also, you were starving, and had only realized it now that you were thinking about dinner. 

But, more importantly, this meant you had more praise for Wilford. “Ah, I see. Again, I’d rather you ask me than try and cook for yourself when you’re little, but I’m so proud of you for taking care of yourself. And even a balanced meal!!” It wasn’t perfect, but it could’ve been so much worse. There were vegetables! And something that might as well count as a fruit for a little!

He smiled at you again. 

“You must be hungry. I am, too; I skipped dinner too. How about I make us both sandwiches, okay?” 

Wilford nodded, curls bobbing. “Yes please.” 

“Okay. Just one second…” You kissed his forehead, then moved away from him to the cupboards, withdrawing a bottle and filling it with water for him. Usually he used a sippy cup, but you wanted him to feel extra small after having to be bigger than he should’ve had to be this afternoon. “Here, baby. Why don’t you go sit on the couch? I can put some cartoons on for you if you want.” 

He immediately started sucking on the bottle. He paused (with it still in his mouth, which slurred his words even more than usual) to say, “I… need something else first.”

“What is it, baby?” you asked, full attention on him. 

With his free hand, he pulled his pants partially down, revealing a very poorly taped diaper. 

You couldn’t suppress a smile, amused and very fond. “Silly boy. Come on, let me fix that for you.” You reached out, taking his hand and walking with him to the other room. You coaxed him to lay down on the rug and wriggled his pants the rest of the way off, laying them in a nearby chair, so you could un-tape and re-adjust the diaper. Once he was secure, you patted his hip. “There you go. Now, my sweet, why don’t you stay here and drink your bottle and I’ll be right back?” 

Wilford nodded, climbing up onto the couch. 

You returned to the kitchen, first cleaning up the mess on the floor with a few paper towels. You pulled out two clean plastic plates, and two fancy glass dessert cups which you filled with applesauce, plunking a plastic spoon into the one you intended for Wilford. You quickly prepared two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, then spent a while digging through the cupboards for a sandwich cutter — it cut the sandwich into two heart-shaped halves; cute, if useless — which you eventually found and used on Wilford’s. You ate the shorn crusts while you retrieved the bag of baby carrots and added some to each plate. Then, after a glance into the other room suggested Wilford had stayed put, you broke into an unassuming upper cabinet, popularly assumed to contain more dishes, but that actually contained your stash of sweets. You put two cookies on each plate before hiding the rest away again. 

Satisfied with the meal you’d created, you collected the dishes and exited the kitchen. 

“Wiiiiiiiiiilford, your dinner is ready,” you called. 

His face lit up. “Cookies!” Of course, he grabbed for them immediately. 

“No,” you admonished, pulling the plate back. “You’ve got to eat your real-food first. See, I’ll do the same.” 

You picked up your sandwich and took a bite. He watched you, then mirrored you with one of the heart-slices, smiling at it before taking his own bite. 

“Is it good?” you asked, gulping your own down as, yeah, wow, you were hungry. 

“Mm-hmm!” Wilford agreed, mouth full and already having gotten some peanut butter on his moustache. 

“Here, try some of your applesauce,” you said, setting your own plate aside to scoop up a spoonful for him. He opened his mouth and ate it up. 

You took a slurp from your own cup.

Wilford giggled, then asked, “Hey, how come I can’t drink mine like that?” 

“We’re using the fancy cups, and you’re just little. You might drop ‘em or spill on yourself. Let me feed you instead,” you said, offering him another spoon.

“Fine,” he agreed, taking the bite.

He alternated a couple of times between accepting spoonfuls of applesauce and finishing off his sandwich, allowing you to intersperse with the opposite.

“Cookies now?” Wilford asked, eyeing them with anticipation. 

“I think I see something else on our plates, don’t you?” 

Wil looked down at his plate, where several baby carrots sat untouched. “No.” 

“What’s that right there?” You pointed to the carrots. 

He put his hands over his eyes. “I don’t know. I think there are only cookies.” 

“Nnnnnnno, you and I have carrots left to eat.” 

He took his hands down and looked at you conspiratorially. “But… what if we had the cookies instead?” 

His logic. Impeccable. But no, your caregiverly authority had to hold strong. You ate one of your own carrots, crunching it loudly. “Nope.” 

Wilford sighed dramatically, committing to the carrots by starting in on the first one. You both crunched quietly for a while. 

“So is everything going okay without Dark?” he asked. 

“What, you surprised that I can keep this place together alone for a week?” 

“It’s a lot of work!” Wil said. “Before you lived here, when Dark always did it all themself… Well, it was really hard on them. I think they were a lot less happy; they had more bad days.”

“Yeah, I can imagine… It’s been hard, but it’ll be okay. I’m just glad neither of us has to do this much work all the time. I might reach out to Google and ask him to take over some more things tomorrow. We probably don’t rely on the rest of you enough…” you admitted.

“Can _I_ do anything to help?” Wilford asked.

You smiled, absolutely filled with love. “You are already helping, my love. Just the way you are. But, I promise I’ll let you know if I have something you can do in the next few days, okay?” 

“Okay,” he agreed. After a moment and another carrot, pulp still in his mouth, he continued, “I miss Dark. And I’ve been missing you, too.” 

You moved the dishes from between you so you could pull him close to you. “I’m sorry, baby. Dark will be back soon and I’m sure they’ll want to spend time with you as soon as they are. And if you need me, or just want to see me, I will _always _make time for you. Okay?”__

__“I know, but I want to be good and not make you more stressed, so I’m gonna be patient and stay big from tomorrow until Dark gets back.”_ _

__“If you want to do that, that’s fine, but if you can’t, I’m right here.”_ _

__Wilford nodded, then gestured to your carrotless plates. “So, cookies now?”_ _

__You laughed. “Cookies now.”_ _

__You needed this tonight. Both of you did. So you’d take it, and stay with Wil until you put him down for bed, and maybe you’d stay up all night because of it, but tomorrow you’d do some more trusting delegation… and you would make it through the week alright. So, you ate the cookies._ _

__

__You didn’t have the energy to play with him or anything else particularly demanding, so after you finished up, you offered to put on cartoons for a bit. You watched a couple of episodes of something with bright colors and the occasional song that Wil liked before you could tell he was winding down._ _

__“Hey, honey? You ready for bed?”_ _

__Wil protested, blinking sleepily. “One more episode?”_ _

__“I think you don’t actually wanna watch the cartoon more; you just wanna stay with Mommy.”_ _

__He made a face. “Maybe.”_ _

__“I’ll tell you what, baby boy. I’ll get you ready for bed, all nice and dry in a new diaper” — he was dry when you’d re-taped him, which meant he’d been holding since he diapered himself, so you were basically certain he would be wet now — “and tuck you in, and then I’ll do my work in your room.”_ _

__He thought this proposition over, visibly pondering. “…Okay,” he agreed, nodding._ _

__“Alright, then,” you said, standing up and turning off the TV. You offered a hand to Wilford, still seated on the couch, but he raised both arms and made grabby hands. You smiled. “Alright, baby, I’ll carry you, but you still need to stand up first.” He knew the drill and stood with a big ol’ smile on his face, then cuddled up to you once you picked him up._ _

__With your arms full of Wilford, you couldn’t really take care of the dinner dishes, but you already knew you’d need to go back out to get things from your office, anyway. And, you had everything that was important._ _

__You brought him into his room, bumping the door closed to give the two of you privacy while you changed him. You set him down on the floor. “Alright prettiest boy, wanna get Mommy your changing supplies and whatever PJs you wanna wear?” you asked. He nodded, moving to the closet where he kept them._ _

__Once he came back with an armful of things, you laid out the changing mat (with yellow edging and animals rendered in gentle colors) for him to lay down on. You helped him out of his shirt, slipping the sleepshirt he’d chosen (oversized and soft) over his head before booping him on the nose, eliciting a giggle._ _

__“Time to lay down and we’ll get you all fixed up,” you told him, kneeling and withdrawing a wipe._ _

__He did so, immediately occupying himself by fiddling with a toy he’d brought over. You quickly got him cleaned up (he was wet — more than you’d been expecting, and you had one last wisp of self-beratement of not finding him earlier) and secured in an overnight diaper. This was kind of a waste; he never wet the bed, and he’d need to get changed right away for work in the morning, but it made him comfy and cute._ _

__Then, you couldn’t resist leaning over and kissing his stomach, drawing his attention back from the toy. “Hey!!” he protested, sitting up. “That tickles!”_ _

__“Oh, does it?” You didn’t want to rile him up but he was basically inviting it now._ _

__“No!!” he protested, though smiling, knowing what you were about to do._ _

__You leaned forward, hands outstretched. “Oh, it tickles, does it?”_ _

__Wilford kicked his feet, narrowly missing your hips but not organized in any sort of direction to really get away. So you swooped in, tickling his sides._ _

__“Noooooo!!” he complained through his giggles, trying for a bit to grab your hands to stop you, then going after your better-protected sides without much success._ _

__You backed off after a few moments. It was supposed to be his bedtime, after all. “See? Me kissing your stomach didn’t tickle.”_ _

__“Yes it did,” he retorted, looking from your face to your sides as if planning a counterattack._ _

__“Nuh-uh, I’m the Mommy here and that means I do the tickling and you do not do the tickling.” You booped his nose again, then stood up, effectively exiting the danger range._ _

__“Time for bed now!”_ _

__“Not fair!” Wilford complained, but got up and headed to the bed anyway. (You had the slight concern this can of worms was only shelved for a later date, but nonetheless.) He paused just before reaching it. “Wait, Mommy, let me clear off my desk for you to work.”_ _

__“Oh, thank you,” you said, a bit surprised. He rerouted to the desk, glancing at the mis-mash of intramanor communication, work-related documents, and half completed coloring pages that covered it before just sort of pushing it to the side, clearing a space. One or two things fell to the floor._ _

__“There you go,” he declared, moving back over to the bed and climbing in, wriggling under the covers you moved up to his chin._ _

__You smoothed back his hair. “Thank you. I’m going to step out for a bit, clean up our dishes and grab the work I need to do, then I’ll be right over there.”_ _

__He nodded, nestling into the pillow and closing his eyes. “Can you read me a story?”_ _

__You glanced at the clock, mentally weighing the options. “…You’ve got work in the morning, sweetheart, and I’ve got a lot of work to do tonight…”_ _

__He looked sad, blinking his eyes back open to make eye contact with you._ _

__“…so, just one story,” you conceded._ _

__———_ _

__The sun rose, and you were still working. You’d done the dishes and hefted a stack of papers back to Wilford’s room. He was already asleep when you got back, snoring softly; since he’d been almost out at the end of the story you read, you weren’t surprised._ _

__Your mind was quieted by the exhaustion, and there was a dull burn in your eyes, but it wasn’t concerning since you knew the cause was only lack of sleep. Reality seemed to move just slightly slower, or maybe just further away._ _

__Every couple of hours when you felt like you’d reached your limit, you looked over at Wilford, sleeping peacefully. You’d think how lucky you were that he trusted and loved you, and then maybe get an extra cup of something caffeinated, and that would give you the strength to go another couple of hours. But now, the things that you personally absolutely needed to get done were basically wrapped up. For now._ _

__You carried the completed work back to the office. You needed sleep, ASAP. However, there was the matter of delegation. Luckily, you ran into Google, who was trustworthy enough to handle such things. “Ah, Google, am I glad to see you,” you said, voice rougher than expected after not talking for many hours._ _

__“…It seems you haven’t slept, Y/N,” he commented, sipping from a coffee mug._ _

__“I have not. I will shortly. But I need something of you.”_ _

__“What is it?” Google asked._ _

__You explained, bringing him up to the office with you, the various things that needed to be done, and that you couldn’t handle it yourself. The two of you had a discussion about which other egos could take over which duties._ _

__Google nodded. “Yes, I can handle all of that. I’ll speak to the others once they wake up. You should really get some sleep; you’re about to collapse.”_ _

__You nodded back. “I know. One last thing, first. Thank you, Google; I’ll be awake later if you run into issues but, like, don’t wake me up unless the manor is on fire. Even then, if you can avoid it? Don’t.”_ _

__He chuckled. “You’re welcome.”_ _

__———_ _

__Everything was sorted. You returned to Wil’s room. You’d wanted to be there when he woke up, but evidently he was ahead of schedule, already getting dressed. “Y/N!” he greeted._ _

__“Morning, Wilford. How’d you sleep?”_ _

__“Wonderful, thank you~. You, though, look just about dead.”_ _

__You laughed. “Yep, yes, that’s accurate. But I wanted to make sure you were alright to get ready for work.”_ _

__“Of course I am! See, I’m even already dressed!”_ _

__“You’re not wearing pants,” you commented._ _

__He looked down, then back at you. “And?”_ _

__You smiled and shook your head. “Alright, well, if you’re—“_ _

__“Get some sleep, Y/N!”_ _

__“Alright, fine!” You turned to go. “Have a good day at work, Wilford,” you called over your shoulder, stepping out of the room._ _

__You found yourself immediately in your own room. Huh. Were you really so tired as to black out the travel? No matter. Your bed was calling you, though you were pretty sure any semi-horizontal surface would do by this point, and you plunked down face-first onto it and were out in seconds._ _

**Author's Note:**

> normally I use no pet names then I start thinking about Wilford and I’m like “my sweetest darling precious baby boy… my adorable sweetheart lovely little one…” so I’m so sorry if that’s excessive but that boy makes me Soft™. I mean I also normally I don’t like being called/calling someone Mommy (and get squicked out by being called/calling someone Daddy) but then I start thinking about Wilford and,,,,,,,, well yeah. but I hope neither of those tendencies affected your enjoyment of the fic. xD anyway peas leab commens; I live for them.


End file.
